


Recompense

by Buffo827



Category: Beetlejuice - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Aged-Up Character(s), F/M, Graphic Description, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, beetlebabes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-02 18:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21165905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buffo827/pseuds/Buffo827
Summary: Lydia Deetz pays a visit to the house where she first discovered her special connection to ghosts and the other side. Little does she know that when she leaves, so does something else.





	1. Christmas Break

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all! This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic. This first chapter is short-ish, though those coming will be much longer! This may take me a while to get through, but I hope you enjoy!

There was a storm brewing as she stepped out the front door. Not unusual for spring, the dark, heavy clouds that were gathering over her did little to lighten her mood.

Stepping off of the front porch of the familiar white house and headed for the waiting cab, Lydia Deetz had never been more excited to be leaving the prying eyes of her mother, father, and the ghosts in the attic. The holidays in Winter River were never easy for her. Ever since she had chosen a college out of state, relations had been strained with the people who’d raised her. She was hesitant to call them her parents, as they had little interest in her well-being beyond anything that may reflect back on them somehow from her campus in Massachusetts.

The source of this Christmas' yearly feud had been the part-time job that she picked up at the beginning of the semester. Her stepmother had bawled, cursing the heavens for sending her a step-daughter that would do such a thing and her father had sat in stunned silence through their conversation, a worrying lack of response that left Lydia nearly in tears before she ever made it to the attic to talk things through with the Maitlands. She had expected him to be furious. To try and talk her out of it at all costs, but he'd said nothing. Just stared at her as if he'd never seen her in his life.

The concerns that Adam and Barbara voiced were very differed from those of her living parents. They'd seen first-hand what became of people who'd died still in the profession and Barbara had actually wept at the thought of someone hurting her on the job. "Oh, Lydia! Do you know what happens if you die and you’re still working there? Do you want to end up at Dante's?"

"Barb. I'm a stripper, not a prostitute. It's not like the customers are allowed to touch. And this isn’t my career! It’s just paying my bills, Christ."

This had done little to soothe their worries. The remainder of her winter break had been stiff and awkward, peppered with offers of money being lent or internships being found with any number of important companies. She'd refused them all.

Despite all the awkwardness and stigma she actually really enjoyed her job at _The Library._ The club was just off campus, tucked in between a bookstore and an adult entertainment store and largely catered to students. The owners were a very sweet older lesbian couple- Sarah and Maxie- who took extremely good care of the girls in their employ and had become like eccentric aunts to Lydia, who at barely 19 had become a favorite amongst the regulars. Fiercely protective, they had gone so far as to offer her a place to stay before she’d agreed to move into her current place after her time on the campus dorm had expired.

Now, stepping into the cab that would take her far away from Winter River and its judgments she dialed the number for club, as Maxie had requested, ready to tell them she was headed home.

Driving past the cemetery was always an uncomfortable event for Lydia. The cracked and fading headstones offered her none of the comfort they once had, and even the sight of the lovely white mums that she made sure were kept on Adam and Barbara's graves offered no ease from the unsteadying sight of it. It appeared to be one of the oldest tombs in the entire acres wide graveyard, and to the unknowing eye may have been convincingly innocent. Only three words were engraved as the epitaph for the soul within, and if you didn't know who said soul was you may even overlook the stone, tangled in moss and vines.

**HERE LIES BETELGEUSE**

She shuddered, assuring Maxie that she was fine and that _Yes_ her flight was on time and _Yes_ she had a ride to her apartment when she got there and yes... "Don't worry, Maxie... I'm fine. I'm always fine, you know that. I’ll see you guys tonight."

Just then something caught her eye. Through the flurry of snow outside the window, she was sure she saw someone walking in between the headstones. She hesitated before really looking. The figure was gone. The snow undisturbed. Nothing. She was imagining things. She let out a relieved breath, unaware of the bloodshot yellow eyes watching her in the rearview mirror.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ 

Her flight into Boston was uneventful. She slept on the plane, curled into her window seat and content to tune out the rest of humanity for a while. 

As she stepped out of the airport she caught sight of her roommates hanging out the windows of the car they shared, waving their arms excitedly. 

"DEETZ! You're home! Oh my god, I missed your _ ass _!" The woman yelling was the smallest of the two, her hair cut into a short pixie, letting her dirty blonde hair curl on top in a way that, when asked, she would say denoted her as a lesbian. ("Every lesbian has this haircut at least once, Lydia... get with the times.") She grinned brightly as Lydia approached the car. 

The driver, more subdued was much taller than either of her compatriots and her warm caramel skin and black hair left her looking like a complete opposite of the first. She greeted Lydia much more gently. 

"Hey, Lyds. How was the trip?" 

They tore out of their parking spot, a pedestrian having to swerve out of their way as they took off. 

"Hi, guys... thanks for coming to get me. The trip was..." 

"Did Delia give you shit? Do I need to kill a bitch?" The girl in the backseat leaned through the gap in the seats to join the conversation. 

Lydia laughed softly, shaking her head. "No, no... it was fine. She's not happy, but. How many times do I have to tell you that killing her wouldn't actually get her out of my hair, Sami?"

The blonde leaned around the seat to press a sloppy kiss to Lydia's cheek, making her giggle. 

"God it's good to have you back! I think the bathroom is haunted _ again _. Don't you think it's haunted again, Charlie?" The dark-skinned girl simply shook her head. "We already burned sage. I think it's fine." 

Lydia smiled, settling in to listen to her roommates bicker. It was a comforting cacophony that made her immensely glad that she wouldn't be without it for the next year at least. 

They continued to bicker all the way up to the apartment until a yawn from Lydia had them bustling her into the kitchen and making a pot of coffee. 

Sami hopped up onto the counter, crossing her legs and staring Lydia down as though waiting for something. "So..."

Lydia shot her a look over her coffee mug. "So what?"

Charlie, leaning next to Sami's feet chewed at her lower lip. "So... what did they say?"

"Well, Delia called me a whore and asked if I had contracted anything, so. There's that. "

Sami hissed, shaking her head. "_I hate that woman_." Charlie patted her knee gently. "You've never met her, sweetie." 

"**_SO?_ **"

Lydia shook her head, sipping at the dark, warm liquid gold in her cup. She never slept well when she was in Connecticut, nightmares and memories combining to keep her awake. Now, she dozed, dreading her shift at work and listening to her girls gossip about her stepmother. 

Just then a long-forgotten voice seemed to echo in her head. It dripped with resentment and a vulgar edge that made her wince. 

_ Lydia... _

She jumped, her coffee sloshing over the edge of the cup and onto her hand. She cursed, mouthing at the scorch on her hand. 

"You okay? What happened?"

She shook her head. "Nothing! I just... must have nodded off. Maybe I need a nap before work."

With her roommates looking on with concern, she made her way to her bedroom before closing her blackout curtains and curling up in the blissful dark. 

Why was she so on edge today? She couldn’t think of anything that had set her off, per say, but the movement in the graveyard and the voice in her head were a worrying combination. It had been nearly four years since the  _ incident _ . There was no reason for her to be dwelling on him now. 

She shook it off, closing her eyes to try and rest. 

What she didn’t see was the way the shadows in the corner of her room rippled and shifted, stretching and yawning as though something or _someone_ were pushing on the other side of the blackness. 


	2. The Waiting Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all! Hope you enjoy this peek into what Beej is doing while Lydia heads home. I really appreciate the kudos and everything! <3 Please let me know if you have questions or anything like that~!

Three years in the Waiting Room could feel like an eternity. When half of that time was spent being sent back and forth between Saturn (and consequently a sandworm’s stomach) it stretched even longer. It seemed every time he made it back to the dreaded lobby, the beauty queen behind the counter sent him off again for “causing a disturbance”. What did she know? Maybe that gymnast wanted her flexibility tested.

It was on returning from one of these stints that Beetlejuice found himself hearing things. This wasn’t terribly out of the ordinary for the bio-exorcist-turned-worm-snack, but something about this was different. It made him stop and actually listen. 

_ I’m fine. I’m always fine... You know that. _

He knew that voice. The soft, sweet lilt that went straight to his head was all too familiar. He’d heard it every day for months, stuck in that closed off model town up in the attic. 

“Lydia…?”

It had to be her. There was no mistaking it. “Lydia!” He was on his feet in a moment, the newly-deads on either side of him jumping at the sudden action. Miss Argentina looked up from her window and sighed. “BJ. Sit the hell down. You have to wait like everybody else. Do you want another trip to Saturn?” 

He promptly ignored her, making for the door that would lead him to Juno, and answers. Why now was he hearing his almost-wife’s voice? Why did he suddenly feel different, more powerful than he had moments ago? 

He never made it through the door. Juno was there when he opened it, her face absolutely livid. “What. Did. You. Do?”

Juno gestured toward her office and Betelgeuse followed like a scolded puppy, flopping into the chair across from hers and crossing his arms tight. 

His caseworker’s office had changed very little from the last time he was there. He pouted in the ugly green suede chair, hands deep in his pockets as he waited to be scolded.  _ Crazy bitch. I haven’t even been on this planet! How is this my fault? _

“I don’t know. All I know is I’ve been hearin’ Lydia’s voice again… it’s real clear this time, Ma, I think she might need me…” 

The old woman sneered at the very thought of it, tapping ash off the end of her cigarette. “What that girl needs is a good kick in the ass and someone to wrench her powers away from her! There’s a trace, Betel. On your wife.”

“On my… what now?”

“It turns out… that your marriage was sound. The ceremony was finished before Mrs. Maitland rightfully sent your sorry ass on a one way ticket to Saturn. That means that Lydia Deetz, legally, is your wife.”

Well, that certainly changed things. That explained the rush of power, but not so much the hearing her in his head. He could have sworn he heard her  _ thoughts _ at one point. 

Juno didn’t give him time to process, just kept going. “Your souls are bound. That means that our Lydia will live a very long time. She’s not immortal. She can be killed. But she won’t she won’t die of illness or other natural causes. That also means that anyone looking for you can find her. There’s a trace of you in her.”   
  
Betelgeuse scowled. “Well, I don’t really see how that’s my problem. I got a hot wife, she’s gotta be of age now... I could just go pay her a visit an’ put a little more of me in her if ya know what I mean..” 

The caseworker let out a strangled, frustrated sound. “Orin is after her, you dumbass. Do you understand what that means? Orin Roglomath is hunting your bride.”

Well, that was probably bad. 

Orin was far from Betel’s biggest fan. They had too much history, not much of it pleasant. When it came to the corruption of souls, Betelgeuse was a master, though usually it was done accidentally. This didn’t exactly endear him those beings whose existence actually centered around that very corruption. There were quotas to meet, after all, and Orin Roglomath had spent centuries at the top of the chart.    
  


If that rat bastard was after his Lydia… it spelled trouble for all involved. He scowled as he thought through his options. Someone needed to look out for her, make sure that Roglomath couldn’t be allowed to get his hands on her. 

He looked up at the old woman with a scowl. “So what’s the plan? Who ya puttin’ on guardian angel duty?” She took a deep drag, the heavy grey smoke of her unfiltered tobacco slipping out of the slit in her throat like a heavy fog. It lingered in the air between them, replacing the words that she didn’t feel need be said. 

He grunted and stretched his arms over his head. “So. I’m guessin’ ya wanna give me some rules ya know I’ll break?”

She nodded stiffly and passed him a sheet of paper from the top of the file open in front of her.

_ **Guidelines for the protection of Lydia Deetz by her husband, Betelgeuse.** _

  1. _The protector may not reveal himself to the protected as his true self._
  2. _The protector may not use magic to alter the world around himself while those who are not deceased are in his presence. _
  3. _No funny business. If the protector may not lay hands on the protected unless given express permission or the protected is in lethal danger. _

He snorted. “Just three? Seems simple enough. I’m guessin’ ya got a cover for me?” Another file was set in front of him with a fake ID and an address for where his new self would be staying. Mr. Bartholomew Jones was about to be the most interesting person on the block. His little wife wouldn’t know what hit her. 


End file.
